


Perfect

by witchway



Series: I'll Kiss Your Tears Away [3]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: College Student Peter Parker, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:48:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21637621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witchway/pseuds/witchway
Summary: This is the prompt that started it all:hello yes I desperately need more reassuring!Tonylike insecure as fuck, sometimes-anxious-to-tears-Peter.and Tony like "no sweetheart, you're perfect" with the touching and kissing and like sweet, drawn out lovemaking, or like a really nice rough-but-loving session that leaves Peter trembling and breathless and too wrung out to feel anything but good.Just.  You know.  Lots of that.  Pleeeease.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark, Starker - Relationship, Tony Stark/Peter Parker
Series: I'll Kiss Your Tears Away [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1523777
Comments: 6
Kudos: 105





	1. Sometimes Being Told That You're Perfect Sucks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flowersandteeth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowersandteeth/gifts).



“No, sweetheart,” Tony crooned, pulling the boy into his lap and trying to kiss away the near-tears.

He knew that letting Peter cry it out might be better – he had received lectures on the subject – from the boy in his arms in fact – but watching Peter cry hurt in ways that were difficult to describe.

Also he was horny. He had been a _good_ boy in Prague because he had promised Peter he would and now he was back in the arms of his lover who was anxious - currently an anxious-to-tears mess. Dammit this tended to happen when he left the country. Moving out of May’s domicile into a single dormroom left Peter isolated at his new college, which left to the mercy of his own brain, and without Tony as a touchstone sometimes things got ...shaky. Pulling the boy into his lap, letting Peter feel his erection, might at least distract him from his anxiety, right? That wasn’t selfish, was it?

“No, sweetheart, you’re perfect. Why can’t you see that you’re perfect?” he asked, kissing the mouth, the watery eyes, the sides of the face. Maybe this was good – sometimes Peter got so _energetic_ in bed that Tony didn’t get to do these sweet, drawn out lovemaking things that had been the hallmark of their first times together. Tony was horny and desperate, but taking his time this way wasn’t bad. It wasn’t bad at all.

But Peter wasn’t having it.

“You _have_ to say that,” he complained, and his face crumpled. It hurt Tony’s chest in ways that put the arc reactor to shame. Tony didn’t react. He didn’t huff. He didn’t roll his eyes. He didn’t act impatient. (Yes, he had to hold Peter tight so the boy wouldn’t see his face. But hey, it worked.) He thought. Thinking when his dick was hard wasn’t easy, but he _was_ a boyfriend, so he tried.

(And he talked while he was thinking. That worked a lot.)

“You are perfect, you just can’t see it,” he whispered against Peter’s neck, working his hands under Peter’s shirt to stroke his back.

“If you COULD see it, you’d be vain, and you aren’t vain, because you’re perfect.” With one hand behind Peter’s head he moved Peter’s head forward until he could press his mouth against the shell of the ear.

“The price of being perfect is you never get to _see_ it, but the rest of us can.” He traced the shell of the ear with his tongue, working his hands across Peter’s back all the while, until he was sucking on the earlobe.

“You’re on the inside looking out, but I’m on the outside looking in. So I’m right and you’re wrong. And you know I'm never wrong. You’re perfect. Stop arguing about it.”

“You’re just saying that because I’m your boyfriend!” Peter pushed him away angrily, and Tony fell back in exasperation. OK, maybe expressing his _actual_ feelings wasn’t a good strategy, so he tried again.

He rolled his eyes.

He dropped his hands and let his arm lay limp. 

Then he snapped “Peter ‘Impostor Syndrome’ is so commonplace and so well-documented the TERM ‘Impostor Syndrome’ was coined back _in the 70’s_ which was hundreds of years before you were _born_ so why don’t you just accept the fact that this is just how gifted kids’ brains’ work and **_get over it_**!”

Peter’s eyes went wide. Tony held his gaze, letting the silence play out. He had had this conversation so many, many times before. But THOSE times were hundreds of years before Peter was born too. And in those conversations, he had always been arguing from the other side.

That gave him perspective, and he used it now.

“You’re not perfect, you’re right,” he said quietly, his hand cautiously reaching out and laying gently on Peter’s knee. “Yes, you are perfect in my eyes because I am in love with you, yes that alters my perspective, and I’d like you to stop yelling at me about it.” 

His other hand reached out for the other knee. He moved prudently, as if he expected Peter to reject him, even though Peter didn’t look rejecting. (He was still looking stunned.)

“But being in love doesn’t mean I’m _not_ a genius. You trust your life to my suit, which means you trust my brain, so why don’t you trust me in this?”

“Because you’re wrong,” Peter said miserably. His voice was breaking. “I don’t know why you’re wrong, I just know you’re wrong.”

“Do you have any idea how often I said the same thing when I was 17? When I was on the verge of graduating from MIT?” He softened his voice until he was almost whispering. He snaked his hands around Peter’s back and began, ever so slowly, to rub circles on his lower back, the same way he did when they had these conversations in bed. He hoped he was moving slowly enough that Peter wouldn’t notice. “How I walked around campus reminding everyone that I was a genius and going home at night to remind myself that I was worthless? And you know what my friends told me?”

“That you were about to be the first person to graduate from MIT at 17?”

“I was Howard Stark’s _son_ ,” Tony said gently, pulling his face closer. Peter hadn’t reacted to the hands on his back, so Tony brought his face up until he could brush his lips against Peter’s jawline.

“… _and_ on track to be famous when I pulled off that graduation-record. And whatever happened, I was the youngest of my class, which made me a weird sort of hero. so o _f course_ when a guy told me I was perfect, I blamed it on _that_. Even guys I was actually close to. Even guys I actually trusted.”

He carefully kissed Peter on the jaw.

“So I don’t really care…”

He spoke tenderly, in between kisses down to Peter’s chin.

“If you believe me…..when I say…..you are perfect…..”

“Because you can’t change my mind,” Tony whispered against Peter’s mouth, and kissed him.

“But I’m not going to argue with you,” he said in a normal voice, and began stroking Peter’s back with firmer hands. (That was a lie of course, he had every intention of arguing exactly this point.) “Because I remember what it was like being on the other side of that argument.

“I mean generally a guy’ll say anything when he wants to fuck you, but _after_ he’s fucked you? You can usually trust what he says after that. Still, it was impossible to believe. When my friends told me I was awesome? All I could think was ‘My God I am a horrible person, I have all these smart guys, all these people I actually respect, _completely and utterly fooled_. I am a monster.’”

Peter gaped down at him.

“I didn’t know you bottomed in college.”

Tony closed his eyes. He let that go.

“Pete,” he said finally, wrapping his arms around the boy. “Most guys like us, when they stress out like this, _they just **drink**_. Or they do illegal substances. You don’t do any of these things, you just fight it headon. That’s why it tears you up so much.”

“So….are you saying I should….”

“I’m saying you should give yourself a break.”

“…because it sounded like you were promoting alcohol and substances.”

“Well……” He looked into Peter’s face with a wicked grin. “The list _actually_ goes: alcohol, substances, and rough sex. I am willing to provide some of these.”

Peter sighed and wrapped his arms around Tony’s head. His body was relaxed now, and Tony caressed the boy’s back underneath his shirt. He knew he could take Peter to bed now without much protest. Had been a good boyfriend, had put Peter’s emotional needs above his dick. 

Still, he decided to go the extra mile, and let the conversation continue.

“Some people get religion,” he said, his voice muffled against Peter’s shoulder. “Pray to a God that loves them regardless of their worthlessness, or punishes them regardless of their worthiness, or whatever. Gives them something to focus on other than themselves.”

“Are you suggesting I get religion?”

“We know a god – currently running training maneuvers at the compound. We could take the helicopter there, hit him up.”

Peter sat up, wiped his eyes, sniffled.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

“What.”

“I actually think Thor is pretty hot.”

“That’s it, we’re atheists now.”

Peter smiled a little, and Tony sighed in relief and kissed the smile.

“To be honest,” Peter whispered, “I was kind of hoping you were going to take me to bed and fuck me breathless until I couldn’t feel anything else.”

“I can still do that,” Tony whispered into his mouth. “But I recently got a lecture from some genius about the therapeutic benefits of ‘crying it out’ and I have a lot of respect for his giant sexy brain so you see my problem.”

“You could fuck me hard _until_ I cried, that might help…..but you hate that.” Peter said. Tony had tried to hide his reaction (Peter’s tears hurt him in ways that reminded him of shrapnel in the chest) and had obviously failed.

“Well….I could always….turn you around and hold your face to the bed so I couldn’t _see_ you crying….”

Peter’s face lit up in a grateful smile.

Tony’s stomach sank.

Oh well, he was committed now.

He was, after all, a very good boyfriend.


	2. Except When It Doesn't

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Oh sweet baby, you are perfect.” He held Peter very close. “I know you don’t like me to say it, but that’s your problem, not mine. I still think you’re perfect.” And Peter was smiling too much to argue.

The white ass poking up at him was cute, he couldn’t deny. The hole was tiny, but ready. It reminded him (a little too much) of the hole he _wanted_ to be looking down at from this angle, but that was not meant to be. Peter had…..issues. And if Tony had to be fucking some anonymous garçon in a Paris hotel while Peter dealt with his _issues_ , so be it.

The garçon in question had pillows pulled up over his head, a sight which honestly made Tony a little queasy, but if this is how it had to be, let it be. He aimed his cock downward and, without much warning (or, to be honest, finesse) forced himself inside.

Garçon didn’t flinch, not that Tony would really notice – his head was now leaning back and he was taking in a studious observation of the ceiling as he started to thrust.

Normally these sorts of events involved thoughts of Peter, but Peter had made his wishes clear. And Tony’s position as a ‘boyfriend’ was becoming clear, too. He didn’t always _like_ what his job as ‘boyfriend’ entailed, but he was learning that what he liked might not always be a factor. This was a new way of thinking to him, he realized (even as he pounded away mercilessly at the anonymous piece of ass on the bed, digging his fingers into the white flesh in a bruising grip) but he was adjusting quickly. If his job as ‘boyfriend’ was _wrecking_ the random fucktoy in front of him, so be it. This is what Peter wanted, so he fucked it with a will.

Far away, Peter was dealing with his own kind of pain (not unlike the anonymous boy crying piteously underneath the pillows. Tony paid little attention. He knew he’d be signaled if his cock ever became ‘too much.’) Tony pounded rapidly, pounded continuously, but his enthusiasm was feigned. He was honestly become more interested with the view from the hotel window. His brain randomly floated back and forth, switching between the images he would have to keep in his head to stay hard, and how much he could recall about French architecture (to entertain himself when he got bored.)

Good images to keep himself hard: Peter’s perfect white skin, bruising so easily underneath his fingertips, underneath his mouth (and losing the same bruises so quickly, always being pristine within hours.) Peter’s lithe, talented (and responsive!) body, moving with dancers-grace around a lab as he sped from one task to the next, completely unaware of how beautiful he looked as he moved, too caught-up in the science at hand to even notice Tony staring. Peter’s perfect mouth, clever and quick and _beautiful_ , especially when he _finally_ got his way and really did receive that oft-promised oral sex lesson from his older lover. The boy was far too eager, of course, and impatient, and choked himself and tried to pretend he _hadn’t_ choked himself and then looked too adorable as he tried to hide his embarrassment …. and even more adorable when he gave a wicked grin and asked to try again.

Good images to entertain himself when bored: Haussmann's renovation of Paris, facts he remembered about Haussmann building facades, and list of French Hotels with better street views than this one.

The fucktoy beneath him wasn’t making as much noise anymore, so Tony changed angles. Nothing fancy (he didn’t want to put in that much effort.) He moved the slim body to the right and angled more from the left – _that_ got a reaction so he kept that position for a while – until Garçon seemed to be really enjoying himself. Then he moved the boy to the left and angled in from the right. 

Sometimes he slowed his pace, let the nameless rent boy in front of him catch his breath, then started pounding down ferociously, driving the boy face-first into the bed. That produced _noisy_ results, certainly. In any case Garçon was panting like a marathon runner on a hot day. A good thing. Tony was hardly breaking a sweat.

This was ‘selflessness,’ he realized. 

“Bravery,” Peter had informed him once upon a time, was not the absence of fear, but rather acting in spite of the fear. But by that logic, Tony had argued, “kindness” was not the feeling of being kind, but rather acting kindly when what you were really feeling was like being a selfish bastard.

And Peter, that sweet angel, had agreed.

Which meant that Tony was being _selfless_ now. Yes, he was nailing a boy without pity at the moment, but that was a good thing. That’s what Peter wanted.

And that’s why Tony was here, now, heartlessly ruining the ass in front of him while the boy attached to it hid under two pillows crying, sobbing and gasping for air.

Tony looked at him very rarely, preferring to keep both hands gripped tight on that slender waist and his gaze firmly locked somewhere else. Still, he occasionally had to look at the hands on the other side of the pillows. One of those hands would signal when it was enough.

At least he was in no danger of coming. This ass was eager enough, but it was nothing to the sensation of Peter’s legs wrapped around his waist (then the middle of his back and sometimes, when he was lucky, his neck) and Peter’s sweet words in his ear, whimpering his name. 

As long as he didn’t think about _those_ sensations for too long, he could keep this up for hours.

As boring as that prospect was. Still, he went to it with a will. This is what his lover wanted.

How long it went on, Tony couldn’t say. He actually pulled out at one point and walked away, finding some cold water at the bedside table, taking a drink, then returning. He said nothing to the boy with his face under the pillows. He got back into position and soon the fucking resumed as if there had been no interruption. The face under the pillows did not react much, which caused Tony to grit his teeth and begin jackhammering mercilessly. THAT got a reaction, at least.

But something was changing, now. It took Tony a moment to realize that the hand he was supposed to be watching was signaling him, waving, like a shy restaurant patron trying to signal a hostile waiter. It took Tony a moment to even remember what the signal meant. He pulled away from the boy, blinking. 

There were steps to remember, here. He was happy no one could see his face right now – he wasn’t 100% sure he would remember them all.

He wasn’t supposed to speak, that much he recalled. He stepped away and took another water bottle out of the bucket of ice usually used for campaign. He flicked the water droplets from the bottle, then dried them on the bed before handing the bottle from the boy who immerged from the pillows.

Peter’s face was redder than Tony had ever seen – of course his eyes were red too, red and swollen. His face was wet with sweat and tears, and his hair was curling in an adorable way that Tony longed to touch, but didn’t dare. He stood slightly apart from his lover, waiting. There was a long list of things he wasn’t allowed to say, not yet, and that made him afraid to speak.

“Good?” he said, finally. 

He was relieved when Peter nodded. Even more so when the young man broke into a huge smile.

“Oh, Tony, that was _amazing_.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Tony’s shoulder’s sagged. He let out a breath that he didn’t know he had been holding. He held out the water but didn’t touch Peter in any other way. He watched while Peter laughed, gasped, then sat up and tried to catch his breath enough to drink. Shuttering breath and drinking water didn’t really work together, and there was silence in the room as Peter tried to negotiate both. Tony wasn’t supposed to touch, but he couldn’t help reach out and brush his hand against a knee, finger a single curl. 

“God, that was incredible. Fuck Tony, you just went on _forever_.”

“You never told me to stop.”

“No, it was perfect,” Peter said, handing the water back to Tony so he could use both hands to wipe his eyes. Then he took the water with one hand and reached out for Tony with his other arm.

Relieved, Tony wrapped one arm around Peter and pulled him close. But only one arm, Peter was still catching his breath and sipping water. Tony tried to be patient.

“You didn’t come,” he said finally, quietly.

“Yeah, well, it was amazing, but not amazing like that. It was, oh _god_ Tony, I can’t tell you how badly I _needed_ that.”

“So, we’re done?” Tony asked cautiously.

Peter’s sweet, happy smile made it all worth it. “Yes, we’re done.”

“So….we can do things my way now?”

Peter’s smile turned indulgent…but knowing. He looked away and took a long drink of water.

Then he looked back at Tony and lifted the bottle as if in a toast.

“Sure.”

“Can we do _all of it_ my way?”

Peter sighed and, if the truth be told, rolled his eyes a little. 

“Ok.”

“Oh baby, oh sweet baby, you are perfect.” He wrapped his arms around Peter and held him very close. “I know you don’t like me to say it, but that’s your problem, not mine. I still think you’re perfect.” And Peter was smiling too much to argue.

The water bottles were returned to the night table and Peter’s body was wrapped in a sheet. The overhead fan in Tony’s bedroom was turned on to dry their sweaty bodies (with a large fluffy blanket nearby for when they got too cold.) Soon Peter was wrapped up in Tony’s arms and patiently enduring Tony’s tender, exploring kisses and his gentle, cautious hands. Peter’s fingers framed Tony’s face, but soon they were buried in his hair, and the moaning was starting all over again.

“Have you ever done this before, baby?” Tony whispered.

Peter grinned. He grinned a little too much, but to his credit, he didn’t roll his eyes. Instead he lifted one finger as if making a point, and whispered

“Define ‘this.’”

Tony grinned as well. He gave the finger a kiss.

“Have you ever done this…” he pushed Peter’s legs apart and pushed his fingers against a slick opening – Peter winced delightfully. “..with anything _other_ than a toy?”

“What if it was……… a _really_ big toy?”

“How many toys do you _have_ , Peter?”

“You’d be amazed what Amazon delivers…..”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know you can't leave kudos again, so why not leave a comment?
> 
> Comments are VERY easy, just cut and paste your favorite line.
> 
> I promise it will be perfect.


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